


Eternal Sunrise

by penhales



Category: Tanz der Vampire - Steinman/Kunze
Genre: Mitternachtsball, Prompt Fic, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-27 00:23:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13869126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penhales/pseuds/penhales
Summary: “What a privilege it is-”The Consort murmured,“-to never tire of this.”





	Eternal Sunrise

**Author's Note:**

> OK so I know I've been off of my publishing schedule for some time and I'm sorry to neglect y'all here, I'll be posting some information about An Independent Will soon. 
> 
> FOR NOW I want to deliver a oneshot as a peace offering and temporary fix for anyone who needs their Krolfred itch scratched. I hope you enjoy it!

A cold, late night wind filtered through the cracks of the ancient slate-grey walls of Schloss von Krolock, just before the clock struck the first hour of the early morning. The pale and beautiful faces of the Mitternachtsball began to dwindle, one by one, drifting like loose dandelion seeds back to their guest chambers.

The ball had been different that year. December 21st, the night of the solstice, as it had been since the first ball, four hundred years and counting. However, as the other balls had been grand celebrations of blood sacrifice, willing or not, the 405thMitternachtsball held a highly dissonant tone by comparison to balls long past.

No living guests wandered the labyrinthine halls, and no hellish monsters gorged themselves on mortal blood. Each guest was to arrive having eaten beforehand, to gather within the palace walls as civil, orderly, presentable undead nobles. The new Consort had seen to that. The first four balls at which he’d attempted the change in tradition were all rough, and sometimes the guests even took to feeding on each other, but he’d known it would take on the fifth try. He’d applied his skilled hand and entirely devoted himself to the improvement of the castle itself, to repairing the guest accommodations, replacing the heavy curtains that kept them all alive, and even to reorganizing the feeding schedules and methods.

The new Consort was a busy dead man, indeed.

In return, the Count had dedicated the 405th Mitternachtsball in his honor. Gold and moss green decorations replaced the typical black and silver that haunted the massive ballroom, lending a light and a life that none of the ball guests had yet witnessed in their un-lifetimes. The tall, arching windows were left uncovered to reveal the vast forest and clear sky. It was fortunate weather, and good weather was to be taken as an omen for the rest of the year’s feedings. The Consort did not understand this tradition and insisted that it was likely not linked to scientific thought. The Count maintained that it was their _one_  tradition they had kept since the beginning, and they would continue to keep it until time ran dry. The Consort was not amused, but understood it was harmless enough.

The ball went off with few hitches, but the Viscount ensured that such interruptions were dealt with swiftly and easily. It was difficult to pursue argument against a fellow with half as fierce of a wit and with half as decorous of an outfit, let alone the glittering, fire-spitting beast that was the Viscount that night. Between a Chaconne and a Minuet, the Viscount could be seen casting a watchful eye around the ballroom, daring any guest to break from the decorum and earn his wrath. A performance comprised of equal shares of theater and terror; a quality all Mitternachtsballs were required to feature. The theatrics, too, came to a close, and like the loose leaves that had fled the trees some months ago, the Viscount joined the ranks of the enchanted undead, retiring to his glamorous bower.

The Consort stood for some time after the departure of their guests, watching the sky for the first signs of the new day. For them, the new year. Like a rich, deep blue velvet dotted with crystals, the sky gave no sign of the swiftly ending year.

         “My dear, perhaps it is time that we too take our leave.”

They were the last of the revelers, the orchestra having taken their exit some time ago.

          “I believe I should like to watch, this time.”

The Count could not deny the Consort anything that was asked of him, having once promised to provide anything that the Consort might require, and the Consort required a reminder of the life that he had been forced to sacrifice. Such a request could not go unanswered, much less unsatisfied.

           “Of course, Alfred.”

Like two carved stone likenesses, they stood, watching for signs of the rising star before the vast window, the last window that remained uncovered.

           “What a privilege it is-”

The Consort murmured,  

           “-to never tire of this.”

The darkness lightened from a never ending deep blue to an amethyst glow, framing the beauty of the trees and catching the reflective white of the snow. The Count cast his eyes down and away, but the Consort watched the purple and grey give way to gold, highlighting the golden accents adorning the ballroom still. At long last the Count joined the Consort once more, watching the great star threaten to become visible just above the line of the mountains, and then he turned his gaze to the sun-gold curls of his partner in undeath.

Even after four hundred and five years, the Count supposed that it was true.

He never could tire of watching the dawn.


End file.
